


Ailment

by poisonwithtrash



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Assimilation, Body Horror, Emetophilia, Little Bit of Everything, Mind Control, POV Second Person, body control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 22:14:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21417526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonwithtrash/pseuds/poisonwithtrash
Summary: Nine short (<200 word) vignettes using in-game debuffs and their mouseover descriptions as prompts
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Ailment

Sleep (“Overwhelming drowsiness is preventing the use of actions”)

The ziz breathes a heavy musk all around you, and you gag, but the discomfort only lasts a moment before giving way to a warmth that takes you off-guard. All at once, the world seems muffled and blurred. You struggle to keep your eyes open, but your mind is sinking. You can hear voices in the distance. A glimpse of red through fluttering eyelids? But your mind is too full of mist and cotton to worry. When you let go, it feels so nice that you wonder why you ever fought at all.

Seduced (“Enthralled by an irresistible force”)

The drowned specter screams, a piercing sound that tugs at your mind. The edges of your vision swim. Your pupils dilate and your eyes water. The beast before you is the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen in your life. The pull of such majesty is irresistible. You wish to run to its side but you can barely feel your legs. Your body feels so distant, but you find yourself drawing closer nonetheless, and that’s all you ever cared about. Pain comes from somewhere, but it is so dull you can’t bring yourself to mind. You let yourself be embraced by ghostly arms, look into a face that is no face, you get an overwhelming sense that you’ll never have to worry about anything ever again.

Confused (“Attacking allies instead of enemies”)

It’s only for an instant that you lock eyes with the yol, but it seems to stretch on and on. The bird’s fierce gaze bores into you, seeing into your very soul. You can tell that this yol has killed before, and it will kill again. You can see this in its face. But from your own face, the bird has learned so so much more. It knows you better than you know yourself. And it knows that you will not succeed, and that you and your friends will die trying. But what can you do? The yol’s eyes flare wide as the instant passes, and you understand. You have to stop them, force them to retreat. And if they won’t listen, you have to beat it into them.

Biohacking (“Your mind is being infiltrated. You will be stunned when the effect expires”)

You aren’t sure how it’s happening, but you can feel it. Subtlety has never been Omega’s style. It’s in your head, prodding and poking like so many sets of tweezers. You look at your allies. Their concerned faces tell you you aren’t the only one. Omega says nothing, seems not to have changed its countenance at all despite probing through all your brains. You can feel it moving deeper, your synapses shuddering as tiny sparks fire at odd angles. What is it doing? You don’t feel any different, but you can do nothing as those ethereal fingers inexorably line your entire brain. Then, a tiny voice at the back of your mind says “preparations complete.” A thousand microscopic sparks fly through your head, instantly overloading synapses in just the right way to paralyze everything but your eyes. For one eternal second, you don’t breathe, your heart doesn’t beat, and all you can do is watch the same happen to your allies. The sparks cease, and you feel as if nothing ever happened, left only to wonder what else Omega is capable of. It could have killed you, but it probably just wanted to test whether its new idea worked.

Goldlung (“A layer of sulfuric sludge has built up in the body”)

As you fight the Locksmith, the air gradually becomes heavier and heavier. Breathing becomes more and more difficult as your throat begins to tingle, then burn. A dull ache creeps through your chest, every second threatening to clog your lungs and choke your heart. You turn your head to look for a morbol fruit, but the movement sends a streak of acid burning pain down your back. Your body has become so gummed up inside that you can only fall to your knees, gasping and gagging. A sudden wave of nausea hits your stomach, and convulsions racks your body. You vomit a stream of neon yellow bile, mostly on the ground. You collapse, unsure whether the burning pain or the bright color is more striking. Panting, you try to wipe the acid dripping from your mouth, but only end up more burnt. And then you can no longer move, your nerves and muscles all permeated with golden death. Hopefully a healer will find you soon.

Beyond Death (Will die if not reduced to 1 hp)

It is impossible to tell exactly what Neo Exdeath just did to you. Your allies are all suffering in their own different ways, but no bolt of lightning strikes you, no shriek wrenches itself from your mouth. Instead, your body feels deeply wrong. Very slightly, almost unnoticeably, you vibrate. Slowly but surely the sensation intensifies. It’s difficult to concentrate fully on the task at hand when it feels like every molecule of your being is trying to shake loose. You are ever-so-slowly disintegrating. But in your confusion, you don’t notice the Flood of Naught aimed directly at you. A giant laser rips through you, and in a flash you can see your body torn apart, limbs scattered every which way, bits of viscera incinerated beyond recognition. Then in the next instant, the decimation of your body reverses, and you are instantly whole again. No more vibration, no more discomfort. It looks like the slow disintegration was counteracted by your instantaneous obliteration. You will need to witness yourself die over and over in order to best this foe. With luck, you’ll get used to it quickly.

Assimilation (“Body is fully assimilated”)

Your allies shy away from the Ozmashade, averting their eyes from it’s shimmering blackness, but you react too slowly to look away in time. Time seems to slow as you gaze into its starlit surface, strangely captivated. Without thinking, you reach out and touch a hand to the orb. The hand plunges through the surface as if into water, but is immediately stuck as the Ozmashade firms up around it. Within moments, your arm begins to liquify from the wrist up, flowing into the ball in a stream. Your shoulder, then torso, then legs all become one with the sphere. But you barely even notice any of this. It is as if your mind has fallen directly into the Ozmashade and gotten stuck even before your physical form. There is nothing but the blackness. No room to think, no room to resist. Your body is quickly sucked in in its entirety, and with no anchor, your mind simply disperses.

Bitter Hate (“Nidhogg’s pure malice is affecting your mind”)

You’ve heard no end to the tales of Nidhogg’s song of hatred, and how it drives dragons to war. But now, face to face with the great wyrm himself, you are experiencing it firsthand. With every blow, every roar, you feel more and more invigorated. You know that to win the day you must keep a cool head, but your bloodlust just keeps building and building. Another slash from Nidhogg’s claws and you want nothing in the world but to roar right back at him and strike where it hurts. Another bite from the massive jaws and you can hardly stand the bubbling rage threatening to tear you apart. You don’t want to stop ever. You could stand here trading blows with Nidhogg for the rest of eternity, growing hotter and hotter by the second. You can’t care. Can’t hold back. Pure anger propels your every move, your every thought. You briefly notice one of your limbs might be missing. No matter. As long as you can swing a weapon, all that matters is the constant flow of blood.

Unwilling Host (A parasite has taken control of motor functions. Spreads through physical contact)

The sawtooth’s jaws snap shut around you and you’re plunged into blackness. Your only sensory input is an omnipresent wriggling mass pressing onto you from all angles. Onto you, then into you. The pain is excruciating as tendrils dig into your skin, probing inside you before curling up inside your muscles. Your limbs are no longer your own. They bend and flex experimentally, and no matter how strong your attempts to wrest control back, your muscles are held firmly in place by the mass of void which permeates them. Suddenly, you are thrust back out into the light. Your allies see you, and they flee. Your vision is obscured by leaves and fronds poking out of your arms, your chest, your head. The organism inside you shudders with delight and your body begins to pursue your friends. It desires fresh meat to inhabit, and you are merely along for the ride.


End file.
